


Dog Day Afternoon

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley’s on the road after helping to defeat Jasmine.  Where could he have ended up in his travels?  Takes place right before “Home”, which means he takes off instead of listening to Lilah’s proposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Day Afternoon

Author note: This was written for Versaphile’s Escape from L.A. ficathon, where Wesley had to be the main character. This was written in response to mouse42’s request of the following: 

Summary: Wesley’s on the road after helping to defeat Jasmine. Where could he have ended up in his travels? Takes place right before “Home”, which means he takes off instead of listening to Lilah’s proposition.

Pairing: Not necessary, but if interested, would not oppose Giles, Angel, or Gunn.  
One or more restrictions: No angst, no death!fics, no Connor (never quite warmed up to the kid).  
Four requirements: A demon with a name that, when said very quickly, sounds vaguely pornographic, mention of an embarrassing past incident, a stray dog, and the gratuitous use of a banjo by someone at some point.

Read and enjoy!

Dog Day Afternoon

The dog just wouldn’t go away. It whimpered and literally sighed as it sat beside him along the desolate, dusty roadside. It had wandered up to him as he knelt, while he attempted to repair the broken motorcycle. The beast wouldn’t leave him alone, nudging him just slightly with its nose.

Wesley verbally berated the creature as he adjusted the last thing he could think of on the blasted machine. It had been giving him fits and starts for the last hundred miles. Now, it wasn’t working at all. Then the dog showed up. He was on the outskirts of a small Southern town, so fortunately if he did need repairs made to the bike, he perhaps could walk and acquire a mechanic in short order.

The dog nudged him yet again, as he wiped the grease he had smeared all over his hands onto his ragged jeans. He’d have to find a Laundromat in this town, since it had been quite some time since he had last been able to do his wash. The mutt looked up at him, imploring him to either pet it or feed it. He never knew with these animals. The sorrowful look made him reach down to scratch it behind the ears quickly. He thought he heard something that sounded like a purr come from the thing’s throat, but it wasn’t a cat. It was a large, gangly mutt. 

The mutt started to whine again as he propped the motorcycle up and climbed aboard. He just hoped that the damn bike would start this time.

“As you can see, I do not have the ability to transport you anywhere. So you must run on home.”

The dog looked at him quizzically, like he was contemplating exactly what Wesley had just said to him. Wesley had assumed that the beast was a him, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

“The vehicle that I am about to start is quite loud. I suggest you step away so it will not startle you.”

Damn dog still looked at him, puzzled. Maybe the dog didn’t respond to English. Or the Queen’s English. Throwing in some words better uttered by Gunn might make the dog understand him much better. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to speak with anything but his natural accent. Surely the dog must understand what he was trying to tell it.

“Run along. Shoo.”

The dog stepped back slightly, but still did not turn and run. Bugger, Wesley thought. He really did not want to scare the poor thing. But he couldn’t wait there all day while the creature decided what to do next. So Wesley took matters into his own hands. He flipped the kickstand on the bike up and started the motorcycle with a roar. 

The dog sat still as it had before. The extreme noise seemed to not frighten it one bit. Strange, Wesley concluded. Most animals would run at the sight and sound of such a thing. Not this one. Placing his helmet over his head, Wesley steered the motorcycle back onto the road into town. He had decided even before having the mechanical trouble to stop and rest for a day or two, if just to have a decent meal and a soft bed in which to sleep. Those comforts had been far too fleeting in the last several months of his travels.

As he glanced back, he noticed that the dog had indeed moved, not away from Wesley to go back to wherever it had come, but in his direction. Not sparing another glance over his shoulder, Wesley steered the big machine to the nearest stop where he knew there to be lodging. He had researched this at his last layover, hoping that he would find a bed and hot water. That’s all his heart desired at the moment. He didn’t need accommodations fit for a king, just a so-called reformed rogue demon hunter, ex-watcher, ex-head of Angel Investigations and marked Judas to all his friends. The title often spun around in his head as he meandered around the countryside. It was the ex that bothered him the most. Every accomplishment, every tie he had with the world had now been shattered, just because of a dire mistake he had made what seemed like ages ago.

As he pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motel, he saw that it was deserted. That boded well for him receiving one of the better rooms. As he pushed the kickstand down once again, he noticed off in the distance the dog trailing after him. He had gone several miles from his last unplanned stop.

“Determined little bugger,” he said aloud to no one, since the parking lot was devoid of people in the bright sun.

It had become quite hot that afternoon and his jeans were sticking in all the wrong places. Not unlike the leather he used to wear long ago in his demon hunter days. His legs were often chafed and sore from long days of riding in extreme heat. Forget the hot shower, he concluded. He just wanted cold water and a nice drink to quench his thirst. 

As he pulled the screen door to the office open, he heard the distinctive screech of springs, almost sounding like fingernails on a blackboard. Not a sound he would like to repeat. Slowly shutting it, he looked around for the proprietor of the establishment. Ringing the bell on the desk, he finally heard movement in the next room.

“Just a minute, will ya,” he heard a voice call out.

Out popped an enormous woman, dressed in some kind of frock that looked a bit like a tent. Her hair was up in pink curlers, face painted almost like a clown. The sight almost made him laugh, if he hadn’t thought that she could pummel him into the ground with one beefy fist. When she smiled, he could see her lack of dental hygiene, plus the fact that a cigarette dangled from her fingertips.

“Well, howdy there. Now what is a darlin’ like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Darling ran through his mind. “Just passing through, madam. I would like a room, if that is not too much trouble.”

The woman smiled at him again, changing to a leer in an instant. Maybe he should bar the door before sleeping that night.

“Yep. Can do. It’ll be forty a night. A steal around here. Rooms are nice and clean. See to that myself. Air works mighty fine, if I do say so myself.”

Air, Wesley questioned. Indeed there is air, or they wouldn’t be able to breathe. What on earth was she talking about? Choosing to ignore what she just said and the looks she was giving him, he pulled out his wallet and counted the money that he owed. He really didn’t like how she was eyeing him up and down. It was starting to make his skin crawl just a little.

The Southern accent along with the stench of perfume was making him dizzy as he stood and listened to the woman go on and on about the motel and all its fine features. There was even a pool, he heard through the din of explanation. Just what he needed was the woman ogling him while he took a dip in a disgusting pool.

Taking the key from her, he proceeded back to his motorcycle. The dog stood not two feet from the front wheel. It stared at him, like it was attempting to figure him out in its mind. Just as suddenly as it appeared, it trotted off like it had gotten an answer to its own question.

Wesley dug his small satchel from the back of the vehicle and strode over to the door of his new abode. It indeed was one of the better rooms, since it had a nice view of the pool. Well, the pool was, in his estimation, not that bad. It looked clean and inviting. That was a first in his travels. Nothing was ever what it seemed, he had realized long ago. 

Slowly opening the door to his room, he felt the cool breeze caress his face immediately. The blasted woman had said somewhere in her babbling that she had just finished cleaning the room not long before his arrival. The air conditioning cooled his bare arms until he felt goosebumps break out on them. Maybe he’d actually need to turn it down. 

Pushing the door shut, he tossed his meager belongings on the bed while he inspected his new surroundings. Checking the windows, he concluded that the room was as safe as a room like that could be. He would put wards up to be able to sleep undisturbed. Other than that, his only worry now was a meal. Instead of looking for food, he decided that a nice, cool shower was in store first.

Stripping off his grimy clothing, he made his way to the small bath off to the side. Turning on the lighting, the harshness of it didn’t escape him. He was so used to seeing himself in dim lighting of dingy motel rooms in the dead of night. Not the clean, crisp clearness of the afternoon sun pouring in from the tall window and the bright light over the sink.

He was grungy. No, that wasn’t the word for it. Disgusting was what he should have thought of first. His hair stood on end every which way, his face had a spot of grease from his previous repairs to his bike, plus the sight of the scars playing over his arms and torso, and of course, the one that was so prominently displayed across his neck. He didn’t look like a mild-mannered English gentleman. He looked like a haggard man with a checkered past. 

Why on earth would the woman in the motel office be attracted to a sight such as him? He would never begin to imagine he could predict what women would like. First Cordelia, then Virginia, Fred, Lilah, even Faith, he couldn’t tell whether they would like his former Bookman image or this bad boy image. Women in his mind were a mystery better left unsolved. 

Not wanting to think about women in general, he turned on the shower full blast, stepping into its stinging spray. Scrubbing with all his might, he attempted to get the grease off of all the places it had managed to attach itself to on his body. His skin was reddened somewhat as he rinsed off the last of the soap and lathered up his hands with the shampoo that he had found in the shower. It was better than nothing. It actually smelled better than he thought it could. As he scrubbed the gunk out of his hair, he contemplated his next move.

His money would run out soon if he didn’t get a paying job. There must be a demon problem somewhere in the vicinity, he figured. No town could be trouble-free. That he had discovered time and again. They would pay to have someone with his expertise to rid them of that trouble. Now at least he was qualified to carry out the job at hand, whereas before he was just playacting.

But first things first. He needed to get his motorcycle in working order before earning a little extra cash. His stomach grumbled as he stepped into the next room to find clothing. He didn’t even bother to dry off, as it felt so good to be clean and grease-free. Down to his last pair of decent blue jeans, he yanked a dark t-shirt over his head as he contemplated doing a load of laundry also. Gathering up his clothes in the bag, he proceeded to do just that.

After finding the only Laundromat in town, Wesley shoved all his clothes in one washer, hoping that his underwear wouldn’t come out differently colored than it was now. It had taken him quite a bit of time figuring out that one shouldn’t mix red socks with white undershirts. Cordelia goaded him endlessly when she found out that he was wearing pink undershirts, since he didn’t have the funds to replace them at that time. Then she asked if she could “borrow” them, to actually wear. Angel telling the two that he just wore black, everything black, didn’t make matters seem any better. It was entirely too much information that Angel had shared with them. Cordelia didn’t let Angel hear the end of the black underwear either.

“Hi,” a young lady said as she stepped into the Laundromat.

Ladies didn’t usually utter a single word to him, probably just from his appearance alone. She smiled and went about her business, loading a few washers as he watched his clothes spin dry. He munched on a stale candy bar from the vending machine across the way.

“I’m Carly,” the woman said as she thrust her hand down in his face.

He had taken to sitting right next to the dryer, brushing up on his knowledge with his “Demons of the Southern United States” book just to play it safe.

“Um, yes. Wesley.” 

He immediately looked down at the book again, hoping that the woman would get a clue and go off somewhere else.

“New in town?” she asked with a lilting voice.

Wesley could never tire of a Southern accent. It was so different from Lilah’s harsh non-accented voice and Faith’s Boston lingo-ridden talk.

“Just passing through,” he answered quickly.

“There’s this good place to eat, down the street here. I was wondering . . . .”

“I’m sorry. I’ll have to decline,” he said in short order.

“Oh, no. You don’t get it, do you? I perform there. I was just playin’ myself up, ya know? My mama says that I need to promote myself if I’m gonna make it in the business.”

Wesley had no idea what she meant by “the business” and didn’t really want to find out.

“And they make the best darn apple pie in the state.”

“That sounds lovely, Carly,” Wesley responded hesitantly. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I usually don’t just walk up to strange men. But seein’ as you’re new to these parts, I thought you might enjoy a nice night out.”

It had been so long since he even went out for a bite to eat at a real restaurant, much less any sort of entertainment. He just might inquire as to what the nature of her talent was.

“Might I ask . . . ,” Wesley started, but was interrupted by another woman, twice the age of the young lady and twice the girth.

“Carly Ann, get your butt on home now. Leave this gentleman alone. I’m sure he has better things to do then to yap the day away with you.”

Carly just smiled back at him and literally sashayed out the door. He got the most delectable view of her backside as she did so. That was the exact point to her display, he thought.

“My, my. Now what do we have here. New in town?”

 

The sun had started to sink into the horizon by the time Wesley found his way back to the motel. The odd thing about what had happened so far that afternoon was that his encounters were all with women. They all had hit on him in one form or another. Some were subtle about it and some were downright aggressive. From the motel manager, to Carly, then her mother, then two other ladies on the way back, he wondered if he were excreting some kind of pheromones that were attracting them. Or they were all just off their rockers, as Cordelia would often say.

Women never came onto him, unless they wanted something. Whether it be sex or translating, he found that most women he met had some kind of agenda. Or they were like the old Faith; they wanted to make him suffer for just being alive.

He still needed to eat a decent meal. By the looks of things, the place that Carly had referred to was the only game in town when it came to eating. With the mechanic nowhere to be found, he realized that his only option would be to eat a greasy dinner tonight and relax for once. He would hurry along in the morning, hoping that his bike lasted that long. The next town would surely have a qualified mechanic. Apparently all this town had to offer were horny females.

Putting his leather jacket on, he concealed what weapons he thought could be necessary. Slowly making his way down the street, the stray dog stepped in behind him, whining yet again.

“Bloody hell. Why do you follow me so?” he said to the mutt as he turned around.

The thing took a hold of his sleeve and wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t a vicious pulling, like it would hurt him. It actually wanted Wesley to follow it. 

“There is no food back that way. Let go of me, you insane creature.”

The mutt complied, but with much too much whining. It still followed him, but at a greater distance. As he opened the door to the establishment to which Carly had referred, he saw the dog actually shake its head no. Either that or it had fleas that needed to be taken care of.

The sun had started to set as he entered the dim lights of the bar. Walking over to a seat, he sat down and grabbed a menu. The place seemed deserted, which hopefully meant faster service. He really didn’t want to expose himself any further than he had.

“Hi, hon. Whatcha want?” a woman said, materializing out of nowhere.

Wesley quickly glanced at the menu and decided it was best to order something fast and easy.

“A hamburger, no onions if you please.”

“How ‘bout a beer with that,” she replied, leaning over the table.

Her blouse draped open, hiding almost nothing to his imagination. Oh, how he wanted that alcohol right then. But he had promised himself no more drinking. Drinking more in the last year than most humans could consume in a lifetime had made him realize that demon hunting and alcohol did not mix, especially since he didn’t have any backup now. The less he drank, the less he got himself into any kind of trouble. 

“Thank you for the offer, but I think that I’ll just settle for water.”

“Oh,” the woman said, abruptly standing up. “I’ll be back with your order then.”

He didn’t mean to disappoint her. He really didn’t know why he would disappoint her. 

The establishment had been somewhat quiet as he entered. But as a woman came onstage to the microphone, he wondered if Carly was going to perform whatever talent she claimed to have. The woman onstage looked like her mother, if he was not mistaken, but had applied garish make-up and put on a hideously low-cut outfit. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Ms. Carly and her banjo.”

Oh bloody hell, he thought. That was one instrument that he could not stand to hear. As Carly walked out onstage, he then understood that wasn’t her only um, talent. She was stark naked, with a banjo strapped around her shoulder. And he thought that Los Angeles had its strange places to visit.

Not only did she play the thing, she suggestively rolled it all over her body. The few women in the audience politely clapped in places, but all eyes were on him. His meal arrived in short order, which he tried to gulp down in as few bites as possible.

Right then he wondered if he should tap his boots together and start chanting there’s no place like home, just like Dorothy did in that movie Cordelia made him watch once upon a time. Demons he could handle. Vampires, even with souls, he could handle. Cordelia shrieking, he could handle. Fred babbling for at least twenty minutes, he could certainly handle. Suggestive banjo playing, not so much.

She must be possessed by some demonic force, he figured. The decision to leave hurriedly was in order. Several other women appeared from the shadowed recesses. Placing a twenty on the table, he got up to walk out before they all decided to jump him.

“Don’t leave yet. We haven’t gotten to the good part,” Carly whined from the stage.

Was it the stage lighting, or were her eyes glowing now?

“Damn. Figures. You go off on your own and find Amazon women ready to jump your bones. Why can’t I ever do that?”

Wesley never thought he would ever again breathe a sigh of relief from hearing that voice. He didn’t even think that the owner of that voice even cared what happened to him after what had happened in the past year.

“Call it luck?” Wesley answered Gunn, not even turning around to acknowledge his one-time friend.

“Call it stupid,” another voice, not always so friendly to him, quipped back. “Keep it in your pants, Wes. Let’s move, people.”

“We should ask the ladies what they want,” Wesley snapped back, now itching for a fight. 

The familiar woman would also want that fight to take place. 

“Faith, I just wanted to walk out of here, all peaceful and nice. Then you have to go and open your mouth.”

“Sorry, Chuck. You wanted to save his ass.”

“I do believe that I can save my own ass, thank you so very much,” Wesley said as he started to back away from his table.

“There are two now. The more, the merrier,” Carly’s mom shouted just as she tried to jump Wesley.

Wesley sidestepped her attempt at bringing him down.

“Don’t you want it?” Carly suggestively asked from the stage.

“And you call me a slut?” Faith yelled back at Gunn as she cocked her fist to take out two women who had materialized in front of her.

“I ain’t ever called you a slut, girl. Now Wes here just might . . . ,” Gunn started, only to be hit over the head with a chair.

Served him right, Wesley concluded as he drew out a gun.

“No shooting. They’re just being controlled by Fuckher demons, Wes.”

“Fukkar,” he heard Gunn yell from the floor as one of the women wrestled with him.

He almost started giggling at Faith’s slipup, because in reality, that’s exactly what the demon wanted to happen. It would probably also suck the life out of him too, leaving him for dead. Sex was so overrated sometimes.

The three of them made short work of the attackers. He hated hitting women, unless they were as strong as Faith, but it was necessary. 

“Behind you. Naked banjo player,” Gunn shouted.

Carly had come up behind him and was ready to smash her banjo over his head.

“Mine,” she yelled as Wesley wrenched the blasted instrument out of her hands and cold-cocked her.

He didn’t know whether she was referring to the banjo or to him.

“He’s mine, you Fuckher demon,” Gunn approached, bleeding from the forehead.

“Hey, I thought you said it was a Fukkar demon?” Faith quipped.

“Fuckher, Fukkar. Why the fuck should I care? Let’s just get out of here.”

“Damn, have I ever told you Wes that the stubble really does it for me?” Faith said as she strolled up to the two, rubbing her body up and down suggestively.

“Damn,” Gunn groaned out loud.

“Bloody hell,” Wesley joined him.

Both he and Gunn at the same time punched Faith, making her fall back to the floor, hopefully unconscious.

“She is so gonna kick our asses when she wakes up.”

“Then let’s find this Fuckher demon, I mean Fukkar demon and be done with it.”

“See, got you doing it too,” Gunn shot back, smile playing across his face.

Luckily the Fukkar demon was in his “Demons of the Southern United States” book, so he took care of it in short order. The thing turned back into its original form, looking much like the dog that had been following him incessantly around town. Now it would be harmless and let these people recover from being possessed.

 

“So, how do we explain to all these women that there are no men around?”

Gunn was right. There were no men, no children, just women that would wake up horny as hell and wondering what on earth had happened. There was no evidence that anyone had died, but there would be plenty of questions to answer.

“Tied up tight?” Gunn asked as they entered the motel room.

“Of course. What do you take me for?”

“I was hoping my friend, but colleague would do,” Gunn declared. 

“How did you find me?” Wesley asked as they watched for signs of Faith waking up.

“Followed the trail of dead demons. Not hard, if you ask me.”

“Why are you here?” he finally asked Gunn as they sat down at the table just opposite the bed.

“Realized that I was missing something. It all pointed to you. Ran into Faith along the way. She realized the same thing, I think. Although she’d never admit it.”

“Me? I don’t understand.”

“We had something good and let too many things come between the two of us. Angel never understood. He was fightin’ the good fight, yeah, but not realizin’ that his people mattered too. We matter. You matter, to me, I mean. No matter what, we’re brothers.”

Gunn tapped Wesley’s hands with his just like they had always done before. Before all the nonsense with Fred, and Cordelia and Angel. Before Jasmine had threatened them with peace. Before his one big mistake had cost them all. Amazingly, he could still remember their secret handshake.

“Oh, just kiss him already. Or let me. Or why don’t you just unchain me. Threesome? Whaddya say?” Faith whined from the bed.

Wesley often thought in the back of his mind about Gunn. Gunn? Where on earth had that thought appeared? She couldn’t be suggesting. He had chained her up as tightly as he could. Not even Angel could break out of all the chains that he had set up.

“How long does this last? Cuz I don’t know how much of that I can take.”

“A day or two at the most.”

“That demon was right, guys. Just do me. Please. Just once. Pretty please.”

A Slayer begging? He had never seen a Slayer beg for anything, especially Faith. Although she was possessed for the time being.

“Come on. I’ll make it worth your while,” Faith huskily offered.

“She’s not gonna escape, now is she?” Gunn asked as he moved closer to Wesley.

Gunn looked at him, really looked at him like he had when they were close. Wesley had missed those looks, those gestures that told him that he was wanted. He really didn’t want to see anything more in that charged look other than friendship. Or did he?

“I’m sure that she’ll stay right where I put her, at least this time,” Wesley said as he grinned back at Gunn.

“Oh no. Don’t you two dare. When I get out of this, both of you are going down, do you understand? Please, please, let me go. I’ll just watch. I swear.”

Both Gunn and Wesley broke out in giggles, Gunn falling to the floor he was laughing so hard.

“We need a camera,” Gunn said as he wiped tears from his face.

“She actually believes that we . . . ,” Wesley added, trying to throw Gunn off a little as to what she was implying.

“Oh please,” Gunn faked Faith’s voice.

Faith growled from the bed.

“Shall we?” Wesley asked Gunn, very serious in intent.

“Might as well. Just might shut her trap up.”

Both crawled over to the bed as Faith watched with widening eyes. “Both of you?”

 

The dog lay in the alley like he always had. Or at least, he thought he always had. Except at this point, he stretched hands over his head, instead of his paws. As he looked down, he realized that he didn’t have paws anymore. He had hands. And he was also completely naked. No more fur covering this now human body. Was he hallucinating?

Standing up on his shaky legs, he slowly walked to the mouth of the alley, looking this way and that. His memory was shaky, foggy about what had happened. The last real, human memory that popped into his mind was he had been working on a car in his shop and this dog came out of nowhere.

“There’s one,” he heard a woman say as he ducked back into the alley.

Now he knew he should have tugged on that guy’s jacket just a little harder when he was a dog, to make him understand that hanging around this small town could be dangerous. Now he had to run for it before the gathering crowd of women caught him.


End file.
